Ruth watched the sun rise through the gap in Evan’s curtains.

She’d woken up at first light, her head resting on his chest, her heart full. Mornings like this had become a habit over the last weeks.

Well, except for the part where she watched the dawn. What a God-awful hour to wake up at.

But sleep had been difficult last night, even after Evan loved her to the point of physical exhaustion. Her mind hadn’t been able to shut off. She was somewhere between excited and nervous, and that had always interfered with her ability to sleep.

Ruth didn’t want to check the time, didn’t want to move at all in case she disturbed the gentle rise and fall of Evan’s chest. But the sun was up now, so it would soon be time for the Easter service. Which she’d promised Mum she would attend—and which she’d invited Evan to, along with Sunday dinner afterwards.

She’d never introduced a man to her mother before. Actually, she’d never really had the chance. Never really had the choice. Now she did, and she’d chosen, and if it all went horribly wrong somehow, she’d only have herself to blame.

How, exactly, would it go horribly wrong? She had no idea. Her mother was the most laid-back person on earth. Hannah, the real test, already knew and reluctantly liked Evan. Evan liked Hannah, and he could probably charm Mum more thoroughly in a day than Ruth had managed in a lifetime. Logically, absolutely nothing could go wrong.

But she worried anyway, because all three of those people were more important to her than anything in the world, and bringing them together seemed like a risk. If there were such a thing as heart insurance, putting her mother, sister and boyfriend in the same room would double her premium.

But beneath the nerves, she felt an unexpected sort of… joy. Evan was hers. He was proudly, publicly hers, and she was his, and everything was simpler than she’d ever dreamed it could be. Ruth trailed a finger over the warm, soft skin of his shoulder, tracing out the same three words again and again.

I love you.

He woke up slowly. He always did. First his breathing changed, went from deep and unconscious to something less steady. Then his heart would speed up slightly beneath her ear. And his hands, which would invariably be resting on some part of her—her waist, her hips, her shoulders—would tighten.

This morning, he grasped her thigh gently with one hand, her forearm with the other. Then he slid both hands over her skin, and they met at her waist. He said, his voice slow and rasping, “Happy Easter. Is that what you say?”

She kissed his chest and stilled her tracing finger. “Yes, you heathen. What, you don’t read the icing before you eat your chocolate?”

“I glance,” he murmured dryly. “The eating part has always taken priority.”

Apparently, the hours of conflicting nerves writhing around in her stomach could’ve been dealt with hours ago, if she’d only woken Evan up. All of a sudden, she felt just fine.

“Evan,” she said. She had no idea what she was doing. Something close to panic rose in her like a flood, except it wasn’t panic, not at all—it shared the same sharpness, but it held delicious sweetness too.

He raised his brows. “Yeah?”

And, since she wouldn’t say it at all if she didn’t blurt it out, Ruth mumbled, “UmmmmIloveyou.”

She’d expected him to look at least a little surprised. But he didn’t look surprised; not at all. She might have been insulted by that, if it weren’t for the pleasure spreading over his face, as warm and unstoppable as the morning sunrise had been.

“What was that?” He asked, his eyes dancing. She slid her fingers into his beard and pulled. He twisted his head to bite gently at her hand. “I didn’t hear you,” he insisted. “Go on.”

“Bugger off.”

He tweaked her nose. “Is that what you said? It sounded more like—”

“Oh, be quiet.”

He shook his head, smile wider than ever. “I don’t think that was it, either.”

“I love you! Okay?”

Evan’s eyes were all soft heat, his movements slow. He wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her closer, until their faces were level. Then he whispered, “That’s good. Because I am hopelessly in love with you too.”

And then he kissed her. He kissed her hard, for a very long time, and eventually the kissing became touching, and the touching became sighing, and stroking, and rubbing, and gasping. And by the time all was said and done, they’d wasted a solid hour being desperate, love-sick fools.

Which she’d very much enjoyed.

But Ruth made herself push away the vestiges of worn-out pleasure like a comforting blanket, one eye on that slice of sunlight streaking through the curtain.

“Come on,” she said, sitting up reluctantly. The loss of his firm, comforting muscle against her side was eternally sigh-worthy, but needs must. “Let’s get ready.”

He slid a hand over her belly. “We’ve got time.”

“I haven’t. If I don’t do my hair before church Mum will kill me.”

“About that,” he said slowly, sitting up.

Ruth raised her brows. “About my hair?”

“No,” he smiled. “About your mother.”

“What about her?”

“Well, is she… I mean, should I…”

Ruth watched him search for words, affection spreading through her chest. He looked quite adorably hesitant. She took pity on him and said, “Are you trying to ask if she’s like me and Hannah?”

He was visibly relieved. “Yes, actually.”

She laughed as she stood, not bothering to cover her nudity. His eyes slid over her body as she searched the floor for her pyjamas. She bit back a smile. “My mother is very nice.”

“What does that mean?” He asked, scepticism dripping from his voice.

“Honestly, take it at face value. She’s nice.” Ruth found her pyjamas and went to the bed, pressing a quick kiss against his furrowed brow. “You’ll be fine. Now I’m going next door to sort my hair out.”

He laid back against the pillows. “See you in a sec, kitten.”

“Bye,” Ruth called over her shoulder. She checked her phone as she made the increasingly unnecessary journey from Evan’s flat to her own.

Of course, it wasn’t Ruth who’d started bringing her things to Evan’s. It was him.

You’ll need them in the morning, he’d say, and grab some pyjamas from her drawer. Or, Might as well keep it at mine, and then he’d pick up something like her toothbrush or her phone charger, and the best part was that he thought he was being subtle.

She’d never thought a man would want her things littered across his space, but apparently Evan did.

Ruth checked her texts with one hand as she headed to the bathroom, unwinding the band from the end of her braid. She had a text from Penny, which had been a regular occurrence since Ruth had written her number on that volunteering form. The first text had said:

Ruth,

Just to let you know, your DBS check is ongoing. :) Once it’s done you can start right away!

Penny :)

Ruth had replied, with coaching from Evan—because texting Marjaana, her best friend, was one thing, but texting someone new felt like a test she’d almost certainly fail.

Penny had responded, and now they talked. Penny maintained her oddly formal texting style and excessive use of smiley faces. Ruth maintained her disbelief at the fact that Penny actually wanted to interact with her, for fun. Or something. Whatever.

But Penny’s Happy Easter :) wasn’t the only message. There was one from a number she hadn’t saved, which made Ruth pause in the act of ferreting out her Shea butter.

Here it bloody goes, then.

Ruth’s breath caught in her chest.

“You don’t know how lucky you are.”

Hayley rolled her eyes. “That my parents never take me anywhere?”

“That your parents never take you to church,” Maria corrected. “Tell her, Ruth.”

Ruth grunted.

“You’re ungrateful cows, the both of you,” Hayley muttered. “Youse get Sunday dinner after. What do I get? Fish fingers, if Laura’s about.”

“So learn to cook,” Maria winked.

“Cooking’s for suckers. Tell her, Ruth.”

Ruth wrapped her tie around her finger, as tight as it would go, until the school’s burning torch logo disappeared. Then she let it unravel and felt the blood return to the digit.

“Are you listening, Ruth?”

Ruth grunted.

The school bell rang, signalling the end of the day, and Ruth pursed her lips. She’d go straight home, get changed, Mum would drag a comb through her hair, and then they’d be marched down to church for Good Friday. Maria would go through the same process at the Catholic church in the next village over, and Hayley would get to go home and watch TV.

She caught Maria’s eye and sighed. “Here it bloody goes, then.”

“Oh,” Maria laughed. “She speaks.”

Ruth stared at the text for what felt like a painfully long time. Then she remembered that she had things to do, an important day to prepare for. Really, she should ignore the text completely.

Instead, she typed out:

Oh. She speaks.

Then she put her phone face-down on the counter and got on with her hair.